Tulipa gesneriana
by Fabled-Reverie
Summary: - "Neutrality did not seem to be an appreciated virtue when World War II erupted." Netherlands-centric historical drabble oneshot. A look inside the Netherlands during the German occupation of WWII. The pain, the hope, and the liberation.


**Author's Note:** I remember learning about the liberation of the Netherlands in history class, and I believe this fandom has a significant lack of Netherlands-ness. I had the unpleasant (or perhaps pleasant) task of choosing a name for the Netherlands character, so I picked Nikolaas. I rather enjoyed writing this, historical stuff, I mean. I hope you enjoy your history lesson (though there is probably a lot that I forgot, I whipped this up in about 3 hours.)

* * *

Neutrality did not seem to be an appreciated virtue when World War II erupted. A nation declaring themselves "neutral" was equivalent to asking to be trampled and abused by the aggressors. The only country that seemed to get away with their neutrality was Switzerland, and even then, it was only because Vash had guns and shot down any unfamiliar plane that flew into his country's airspace.

Nikolaas had tried to declare himself neutral when the time came, and so had his sisters. Despite waving his hands of the issue, the defense budget of his country increased with each acquisition Ludwig's boss made. It was as if his own leaders knew their attempt at staying out of war was futile; At some point, they would have to fight for their freedom. Several false warnings of attack on his country had worn out his determination.

The real invasion came on May 10th, 1940.

Like they had in the Great War, the German soldiers marched over the Benelux nations in order to gain entry to France. Nikolaas wondered why Francis' nation had even bothered building the Maginot line; the French man had to know somewhere deep down that the Germans would use the same route they had before; it had worked rather effectively. However, unlike 1914, the Germans did not relent attack until full surrender.

There was an instance where German authorities ordered the surrender of the town of Rotterdam. Fearing for the safety of his civilians, Nikolaas solemnly obliged. He had expected the planes to turn around and leave his cities alone. He watched horrified as deafening explosions passed his ears, bombs destroying the town he had surrendered for. Sharp and heavy pains had seized his stomach and he fell to his knees with an arm clutching his side. The horrid smell of burning rubble and suffocating smoke did not leave him. After that day, Nikolaas forgot how to smile.

_Nearly one thousand, dead. Eighty-five thousand, homeless._

He would find out several years later that the pilots carrying the bombs were improperly informed of the aborted mission. He would slam his fist on the hard surface in front of him out of frustration and built-up emotion. He would curse and scream and mourn for his people with watering eyes, but he would not allow himself to cry. He would never allow himself to cry.

The heavy pain in his abdomen did not subside, instead it spread as a rolling ache all through his body and left him weak and breathless. Despite his inflated defense budget, his troops were ill-prepared for the precision and drive of the German soldiers. Fearing for the safety of his people and arms-men, Nikolaas and his advisers formally capitulated on May 15th, 1940.

Five days. Five days was all it took for the Ludwig's men to beat his people into submission. He met with the stern German man, along with both their advisers and bosses, to officiate the formal surrender of the Netherlands to Nazi Germany. Usually, the blonde man's expression was taught with intensity and severity, but when Nikolaas looked into his icy blue eyes, all he saw was regret. As their officials spoke, Ludwig did not say a word to him. Aside from their initial shared glance, the man did not spare him any further acknowledgement.

Somehow, Nikolaas knew that the man had no control over the actions of his countrymen, and no influence whatsoever over his boss. He could admit that he did not hate Ludwig; he only hated the situation that his people's lack of foresight had put them both in. The split second of an apologetic look had allowed the pain through his entire body to bubble up to the surface once more.

_Over five thousand Dutch people, dead._

After the surrender of his nation, the little hope that he had left rested on the Allies stationed in Northern France. They had formally declared war at least eight months prior, so surely they were aptly prepared for battle. Nikolaas didn't realize how wrong he was until the Allied troops fled from Dunkirk, leaving all of Western Europe in the grasp of Nazi Germany. At that point, he knew the occupation of his country, and the abuse of his people would not end quickly, if at all. Like Francis' government had, his own boss fully intended to co-operate with their German rulers. His country's queen, who took safe-haven in Britain and whose children found solace across the Atlantic in Canada, denied such a cowardly action and dismissed his boss without hesitation.

A new man was appointed as Prime Minister, but Nikolaas did not see him until much later. Instead, the Nazi party left one of Roderich's countrymen in charge of the whole of the Netherlands. Over the next few years, Nikolaas became aware that Nazi Germany intended to absorb his nation in a Greater-Germanic union, much like they had with Austria and the Sudetenland. It scared him.

For as long as he could remember, he had been his own person. Sure there were times when he had been ruled by others, but he had always been at least a bit independent. There had been a time in the dark years of German occupation when he caught sight of the Austrian man. He never had a full-on view of him, but Roderich's voice was hazy, and his eyes were glazed at the corners. He lacked all of his usual characteristics that defined him as his nation's representative. It was as if he was losing his identity in favour of the "Greater-Arayan" one.

Nikolaas didn't want himself to reach that point. So he patiently and painstakingly awaited the counter-attack of the Allies, whilst being completely isolated and alone.

There were times in the early forties when he would wake up with an intense pain concentrated in his fingers. Other days, his hands would be completely numb and ice-cold to the touch. However, it became a constant that his everyday routine would include at least an hour spent on treating the bubbling blisters and vein-patterned cracks that covered the skin of his forearms and hands. Along with the piercing pain in his hands came the slow, drawn-out stomach aches. It was true that the pain hadn't left since the bombing of Rotterdam, but when thousands upon thousands of his Jewish people began to disappear, it intensified a great deal.

The confusion and panic of his people appeared upon his rough hands daily, and no matter how hard he tried, he could never soothe the pain away. He knew many of his people attempted to aid their Jewish neighbours in hiding, and died for their hospitality. It hurt him deeply that his nation's own efficiency at keeping citizen records was what damned them. He also knew that many of his people did collaborate with the ruling Germans, and he ached for the return of their morals and innocence. Perhaps the one pinprick of light in the darkness of war was the hitches of anticipated breath that would sometimes appear in his throat late at night.

He was weak; his people were weak. His body was ravaged and fever stricken; his people were starving. His hitched breaths increased in frequency and intensity as the war waged on; his people were _resisting_.

As the resistance grew, many of his people died for their affiliation. Immediate death was served to any Dutch person discovered to be within the resistance. The hitches of breath soon became accompanied by a searing pain from his shoulder blades. In the still silence of the night, he wondered if his sisters and neighbours were experiencing the same intense pain that he was.

Through the later years of the war (though he was not aware they were the "late years",) he began to feel the presence of his neighbours once more. Arthur sometimes spoke to him in his dreams. Francis seemed to be watching his every move, though it was always his imagination. Even their overseas Allies sometimes appeared to him in his delusion. He swore that he had once seen two blonde men walking down his street: Alfred and Matthew. Though his appearances were few and far between, Nikolaas swore he even saw a tall, broad-shouldered Ivan reflected in his bathroom mirror. He had been mouthing something about a "second front" at a frantic pace.

That hushed whisper of a second front finally became a reality on June 6th, 1944.

Nikolaas heard the news of five beaches in Normandy being infiltrated by Allied forces: two by the Americans, two by the British, and one by the Canadians. That day, or D-day as it was called, was the first time he saw sunlight in four years. The uncomfortable submission that his people had slipped into was rapidly dissolved over the course of the following months. The Allied forces advanced rapidly; Ludwig's men had spread too thin over continental Europe. By early September, it seemed that his people were close to liberation. The fifth of that month was declared_ "_Dolle dinsdag_"_ as his people began to celebrate.

The celebration began a bit too early though. After pushing so easily through the German troops in France, the Allies found it harder to defeat them as they pushed north-east towards Belgium and the Netherlands. Throughout the month of October, Canadian and British forces fought to liberate Belgium's port city of Antwerp and the south-western portion of his country. German forces fell, and the complete domination of his country had ended. With a smile spread across his lips, Nikolaas vowed to thank Arthur and Matthew somehow, someday.

Despite the flicker of hope that burned within him, he knew that many of his people were still suffering. Additionally, with winter closing in, he could feel a ghost of pain flutter over his throat and his smile eventually faded. The German occupation had deprived his people of proper food and water. Without anything to sustain them, he knew many people- women, men, _children_ - would die of hunger or disease from malnourishment through the bitter season. Unfortunately, the winter of that year was unusually severe, and people all across his country died from its severity. The cruel name given to the season would forever drip from his tongue with the frustration of his lack of power over his people's suffering. It became known as the "hongerwinter".

_Eighteen thousand, starved to death in the cold._

Every day of that winter, he woke up with a sore throat. As spring approached, the intensity of it lessened, but it was so raw that he could no longer speak. The Allied focus on liberating his country seemed to have lessened as well, but when Nikolaas caught news of Matthew's troops crossing the Rhine westwards, his people once again began to rejoice. In their frenzy, he fervently thanked god for his good fortune, and a smile once again graced his lips.

As the Canadian forces drew closer to his city, he decided to get cleaned up and join his people in rejoicing in the streets. Through the four years of war thus far, he had only found it necessary to bathe himself when he truly needed it. He had been generally confined to his apartment by his boss overseas (his _real_ boss, not the Austrian running his country), and therefore let his state of self-upkeep fall into disarray. He washed away the dirt and blood that had been collecting for a few weeks and let his dark brown hair air dry.

He rifled through a drawer of neglected dress shirts and picked a modest one. Evidently, he had not found it necessary to dress nice during his confinement either, as world meetings had been _indefinitely postponed_. He left his apartment in a harried rush.

The level of noise coming from the street was awe-inspiring. From his great distance, he could hear the cheer of his people as they greeted an advancing troupe of Canadian soldiers. As he jogged to approach the mob of people lining the streets, he couldn't help but get swept up in the joy of the day. A tank covered in Matthew's soldiers rolled down his street, and his people shouted and waved at them. Small children were picked up by the friendly Canadians and kissed on the cheek as their mothers wept tears of joy. All around him, he could see flapping flags of red and white; his people were waving the Canadian flag.

The thing that struck Nikolaas the most about the soldiers was their cheery, youthful faces. Most of the men looked about nineteen or twenty years old, and he was surprised that through all that those boys had experienced in the war, they were still able to wear a smile with such sincerity and honesty. It reminded him to keep hope in the darkest of moments, and in the bloodiest of days. Some of the young men were handing out parcels of food to his starving people, which they took with a kiss of their war-roughened hands. He had heard that Canadian and other Allied planes had dropped crates of food over his nation's more deprived areas.

A rush of gratitude enveloped him. These people before him had lives of their own back home, yet they were overseas in a foreign country helping his people, people who they would probably never see again. The corners of his eyes began to sting slightly. Through all the horrors his people had experienced during the war, the sight of a few bright-faced Canadians had gotten him teary-eyed. He tried to force the welling emotions back down below the surface. A hand clasped his finally pain-free shoulder.

"Nikolaas, I'm glad you're doing well," a soft voice whispered to him through the sound of the crowd. He turned to meet the watering blue-violet eyes behind him and smiled. He attempted to speak but all that came out was a rough growling gasp of air. Nikolaas collapsed into Matthew's (surprisingly) strong arms and began to sob out of relief and gratitude. For a moment, the young Canadian looked startled at the uncharacteristic actions of the Dutch man, but then ruffled his rough hands in the man's dark hair. Slowly, Nikolaas brought his bloodshot eyes to the Canadian's face and grasped onto his shoulders for balance. He choked back another sob and croaked out his gratitude.

"..Thaankk.. y-youu.." He buried his head in the smaller man's chest to hide his rush of emotions. Matthew gave a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.

"It was nothing, we were just doing what was right." The cheerful smile returned to his face. Nikolaas remembered his princess that had given birth in Matthew's country (and how the Canadians had declared her delivery room international territory so the newborn would inherit her mother's Dutch citizenship.) He remembered how the Canadian parliament buildings had flown his flag the day after the birth, the only foreign flag to have been officially hoisted upon the Peace Tower. He remembered how he had vowed to repay the Canadian, and he wouldn't forget.

He mouthed the words "I'll repay you somehow," but Matthew just shook his head and hugged him closer. All around them the crowd roared in appreciation of the advancing Canadian soldiers. Matthew gave him one last squeeze and left without a word to rejoin his troops as they marched onwards to liberate more Dutch cities. Nikolaas stood dumbfounded for a moment before leaving his ecstatic people to flesh out his plan to pay thanks to the nation of Canada.

He would never forget the people he lost, his caliced hands were a testament to that.

_More than two-hundred five thousand nine hundred, dead, but so many more liberated from oppression, alive._

The pain throughout his body still remained, but it was beginning to heal.

* * *

**End Notes:** In case you're wondering how the Netherlands ended up showing their gratitude for Canadian liberation, or if you don't know:

"In 1945, the people of the Netherlands sent 100,000 hand-picked tulip bulbs as a post-war gift for the role played by Canadian soldiers in the liberation of the Netherlands. These tulips were planted on Parliament Hill and along the Queen Elizabeth Driveway. Princess Juliana was so pleased at the prominence given to the gift that in 1946, she decided to send a personal gift of 20,000 tulip bulbs to show her gratitude for the hospitality received in Ottawa. The gift was part of a lifelong bequest. Since then, tulips have proliferated in Ottawa as a symbol of peace, freedom and international friendship. Every year, Canada's capital receives 10,000 bulbs from the Dutch royal family."

Tulips! I have seen them, they are beautiful. Is there anyone from the Netherlands that can tell me if I got all the history right? Thank you for reading, and don't forget to review please?


End file.
